


These Deceitful Days

by sansalannistark



Series: For the North [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sickbed Confessions, Slight Violence, The execution, and other things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 08:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12384792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansalannistark/pseuds/sansalannistark
Summary: Sansa exerts power in the North and she pays a heavy price for it.





	1. Judge and Jury

**Author's Note:**

> A 2-part addition to my For the North series. If you like, review - we don't lie when we say it makes us write more!  
> Any suggestions for future installments, please comment below! :-)) Happy Reading!  
> *As always, nothing belongs to me and I might have blatantly lifted some S7 quotes... sorry HBO!

There’s a noticeable chill in the air when Sansa calls the court together. In hushed mutterings exchanged by her fireside, he knows why and he has to try hard to hide the smug satisfaction that lurks beneath his impassive face. There is a sense of justice that, although he is responsible for some of the crimes against her family, he has earned his way to forgiveness whilst others continued to breed manipulation and strife among the Starks within Winterfell’s walls.  _Particularly_ after having caused the death of Eddard Stark. 

He takes no part in the exchange, just listens as his Queen addresses her people. 

They’re clever, these two Stark sisters. Arya and Sansa act out their parts well.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the younger Stark asks. Sansa stares back, unfazed.

“It’s not what I want. It’s what honour demands.”

There is an icy silence as everyone holds their breath, not a man disputing the Lady of Winterfell’s speech.  _Not that any would dare,_ Jaime thinks to himself. Still, she has more respect than the dragon queen ever could _._  Speaking of which, even Daenerys herself is silent - an unusual feat. As is Jon Targaryen, seated next to his sister and brother. Jaime almost laughs out loud, wondering if the woman finds it physically difficult to shut her mouth or if she is wordlessly begging to let forth a spew of insulting mockeries as is usual. He favours the latter.

Ned Stark would be proud of them, perhaps not of the backstabbing that came before their realisation of them truth, but of his daughters doing their duty to protect the north – and one another.

“And what does honour demand?”

“That I defend my family from those who would harm us. That I would defend the North from those who would betray us.” Jaime sees Sansa’s hand twitch under the table and sees Arya’s eyes flick to where Baelish leans smugly against the wall and back again at her sister. The silent understanding is knowledge only to the Starks, Jaime, Daenerys and Brienne.

“Alright then,” Arya shrugs. “Get on with it.”

“You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges...” Sansa trails off, looking at Baelish now, her gaze still the same cool and composed one he is familiar with and he commends her fortitude.

“...Lord Baelish.”

Baelish stalls, his face falls and he pushes himself slowly from the wall. The smug satisfaction that underpinned his face has fallen and he adopts a look of what Jaime assumes to be mock confusion – though he is sure the man is now quickly realising his perilous situation. Arya Stark’s face is one of almost malicious glee, her eyes predatory.

“Lady Sansa... forgive me. I’m a little confused...” Baelish grasps desperately at what semblance of hope is rapidly slipping from his grasp as he strides into the centre of the hall.

“Which charge confuses you, Lord Baelish?” Sansa gives him no time to talk, begins reeling off his crimes, his grievances against her family. When she is done, the facade strong, Baelish is a wreck. He cannot deny anything, not with Bran Stark as a witness and when Arya draws her dagger, Jaime refuses to suppress the smirk teetering at his lips.

“Sansa, _please...”_ Baelish tries, throwing himself against the table. Jaime lurches forward, his hand already on the hilt of his sword but hesitates at Sansa’s hand. She stares at this vile man, refusing to break eye contact.

“The punishment for murder and treason is death.” Sansa motions to the gathered crowd. Jon rises and together he and Jaime step forward to grab the man’s sinewy arms and drag him away from the high table, away from Sansa.

“I’m a slow learner, it’s true,” she remarks. “But I learn.” 

Jaime finds a great satisfaction in his duty. Baelish is almost crying, his voice desperately searching for a saviour. Jaime might feel some semblance of sympathy for Petyr Baelish, had he not been responsible for the death of Sansa’s father and sold her to a rapist who tortured and abused her daily. As it stands, he finds her wants to break then his neck with his damned golden hand, for all it’s worth. Jaime restrains himself just enough - as does Jon - to simply shove the man upon the floor. He hopes Baelish suffers before he reaches the seven hells. 

“Sansa, please, all I did was for you. I loved you,” He sobs pathetically. Though Sansa will reprimand him for it, Jaime is unable to restrain himself from spinning angrily on the monster at his feet and thrusting the golden hand at his face. The resounding crack he hears gives him the greatest sense of pleasure.

“Jaime...” Sansa murmurs, staring at him, half exasperated and half irritated, though he swears he can see the hint of a smile dancing at the corners of her lips. Despite his Queen’s disapproval, he sees the satisfaction he feels reflected on the people around the room and Jon nods to him, his face curved in approval. 

Jaime pauses, leaning down to Baelish. “You’ll rot in the seven hells for what you did to her,” he hisses. “And when I get there, I’ll make you pay again for everything you put her through.” 

“Jaime!” He does stand back then, mindful that though she loves him, he is hers to command and they are in a room full of her people. Jaime does not wish to disobey her command, does not want for people to feel that she can be disobeyed, so he releases the bastard. Sansa stands, staring Littlefinger right in the eye as she continues.

“When you brought me back to Winterfell, you told me there was no justice in the world. Not unless we make it.” She pauses, tilting her head and glancing at Arya. “Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish. I will never forget them,” she adds bitterly. Jaime watches as Arya, needing no further prompt approaches Baelish.

“Sansa-” he rasps suddenly, but he is silenced as Arya’s dagger swipes across his throat. The bastard collapses to the floor, his blood already running through the cracks in the stone as he clutches uselessly at his throat. When he finally stills, Sansa nods to the lord gathered. Jaime observes them, sees clearly the fear and shock writ on Daenerys’ face. _You underestimated her._ Perhaps now, the dragon queen might show Sansa a little respect.

Sansa makes to leave, pausing to wait for Jaime. They stride out together – it matters not what anyone thinks. Soon people will realise what’s going on between the Queen in the North and her Lord Commander, even if it’s more innocent than they might expect. Jaime senses Sansa’s unease as she opens her door for him and pours them wine.

“I should feel guiltier,” she blurts. Jaime stares at her quizzically.

“He killed your family, my love. I hardly think guilt is what you ought to feel.”

“He helped me escape King’s Landing, he did keep me safe for a time, and.... he loved me, I suppose,” she trails off, taking in Jaime’s expression. “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you like being reminded of that.”

He sighs, his fingers dancing over the rim of his wine glass. “No, I don’t. But I understand. I loved Cer- I loved her. And part of me should feel shame at leaving her but she poisoned my mind and after I think about everything she did... I cannot blame myself for it. Neither should you.”

“You’re right as always.” Sansa smiles, downing her glass. Jaime returns the gesture, downing his own.  “No point being bloody miserable now. Not when there’s a war to come.”

Sansa tugs him closer that she might kiss him and that she does, running her fingers through his hair. He sighs against her mouth and then picks her up, to which she lets out a squeal. Carefully, Jaime deposits her on the bed and then slides alongside her. Sansa kisses him again briefly and settles herself against his warm chest, curling into him so that her head rests under his chin and his arms are around her. Jaime plants a kiss on her forehead as she drifts asleep, peacefully aware that she could not be safer and that even the horrors of her own mind cannot surface when they are so close.


	2. Executioner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part! I decided to publish it early, because I love you all, though it may not seem like it here lol ;) it's a bit angsty. See what you think and let me know your thoughts and suggestions for this series.

Sansa is not sure exactly when she wakes, but it is not morning for the darkness brought by the dead of night still remains. She blinks slowly and glances down at Jaime, fast asleep and peaceful. She is about to go back to sleep when a sudden shifting alerts her to a presence in the room and she jumps up from Jaime’s embrace.

“Who is that?” she calls, fully aware that her hand is shaking. Sansa presses it into the bed to quell her terror.

No one replies but Sansa can see him now – a man dressed in black with a narrow thin face. He stares blankly back at her, as if confused what to do next. Sansa steels her resolve and stands slowly.

“I ask you again. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The man says nothing – be it from shock or that he is under orders but he says nothing. Sansa doesn’t know what she is supposed to do either. Jaime is asleep, though he murmured when she left his arms. There is no chance this man is here for anything good, but by the time she has woken Jaime or called a guard, he will have gone.

Before Sansa can even contemplate what to do, the man lurches forward, but not towards her. Towards _Jaime_. All Sansa sees is the glint of silver in his hand and her heart stops beating, the world slows and she feels her stomach fall through the floor.

“No!” she screams, hurling herself between Jaime and the assassin. Jaime shudders and jerks awake. Sansa’s horror at the man’s abrupt attack sends the adrenaline running through her blood. She hasn’t see the blade already extended in front of him, doesn’t feel its cold press against her stomach, doesn’t feel herself falling to the floor until she hears Jaime’s cry and the world goes black.

\---------

Jaime lurches from the bed, already half tackling the assassin. He manages to pry the dagger from his hand and slit the man’s throat with it. Jaime’s gaze falls upon Sansa and he collapses beside her, pulling her body into his arms and taking in the copious amounts of blood that seep from her stomach. Her eyes are fluttering but she’s limp in his arms. Jaime shakes her desperately.

“Sansa! Stay with me... open your eyes...” Jaime presses his hand to the wound, he cannot call for help, there’s no time but if he doesn’t stop the bleeding.... _She’ll die, you halfwit. Sansa is going to die._ All at once, Jaime wants to scream but forces himself to focus on the task at hand and manages to grab Sansa’s cloak from the floor, using it to staunch the worrying flow of blood. She hasn’t lost too much yet but if he can’t get the wound cleaned and sewn up soon then...

If it were just about protecting Sansa, he might have been able to cope with the regret. He swore he would not fail to protect her, but in time we would have accepted the guilt and died knowing it. It is not so simple anymore. He loves her, loves his Queen for the just and honourable ruler she is and for her ever accepting heart. The one person aside from his brother he cares for anymore.

“Come on, Sansa, my sweet, please look at me...”

She is deathly pale, though the faint beat of her pulse reassures him to some measure. Gently, he scoops her up, careful to not dislodge the cloak soaked in her blood, all that stands between her and the Stranger. Jaime feet pound along the corridor as he feverishly searches for Maester Tarly. As he runs, he recalls seeing Sansa fall and how she stood between him and the assassin. Piece by piece, it all comes together. It is clear that the man’s intent was not to harm Sansa, but to kill the Kingslayer and for that, Jaime’s heart snaps little more. It truly is his fault.

Jaime spots Sam out in the courtyard and shouts out for him. When the lad turns and takes in the sight of Sansa’s red hair and bloodstained body in her Lord Commander’s arms, he understands and rushes over.

“We need to get her somewhere... follow me.” Sam hurries along and Jaime after him. In the young Maester’s chambers, he places Sansa on a long narrow table. She lets out a pained moan and Jaime jumps at her side, clasping her clammy hand.

“Sansa? Sansa can you hear me?” Jaime reaches up to brush the hair from her face, vaguely aware that Sam is peeling away the bloody cloak. “Sansa... please don’t leave me. I’m sorry I let you down, but give me another chance. Who will I serve if you leave me? What will I be without you?” he pleads. “You’re my last chance for honour. Don’t make an oathbreaker of me.”

Sansa shifts and moans as Sam works at cleaning the wounds. He looks up at Jaime. “Ser Jaime... you might want to tell Jon – King Jon I mean – of what has happened...”

“I’m not leaving her. I swore I wouldn’t,” he whispers.

“Very well. I need you to give her this.” He passes Jaime a vial of what looks like milk of the poppy. “She’ll be in a lot of pain but I have to clean and sew up the wound.”

Jaime nods, opening the vial and slowly tipping it down Sansa’s throat. When he’s managed to get her to swallow most of it, he sits back down, his grip on her hand unwavering, just as his eyes are unable to leave her lifeless form. After a while, Sam steps back, the smell of the hot wine permeating Jaime’s senses. He looks over the where the boy has stitched up and bandaged the wound.

“Thank you.”

“She’s not completely well yet. I don’t know how long... if... I don’t know when she’ll wake up. You’ll stay with her?”

“Yes,” Jaime chokes out, well aware of the implication of Sam’s words. “I’ll never leave.”

Sam bustles off. Jaime assumes he is going to tell Jon and the others what has happened. He knows his desperate display of affection for Sansa was dangerous in front of Sam, but he trusts the boy to stay out of it and besides, he could not find it in himself to care when the woman he loves lies on the table and might never return. _Sansa’s strong... she’ll survive,_ he tells himself, but life has never played its games kindly with Jaime Lannister.

As he hears voices outside, Jaime returns once again to the assassin. The man meant to kill him, he knows, but who sent him is another matter entirely. Someone who knew he would be in Sansa’s chambers in the middle of the night, which alters his line of thought. Cersei might have been the obvious answer but she had no way of knowing about he and Sansa. So, someone within Winterfell then. Not Jon, he never would do such a thing for he has too much honour than to murder a man abed, even if he was with Sansa. Arya would never send an assassin – she would do the deed herself.

 _Daenerys_. Daenerys wants him dead. Why he cannot fathom for he knows that there is a loathing and hatred between the two of them, but she has not pressed the matter of executing him for killing her father – Tyrion had Jaime pardoned. No, there’s something else, and Jaime is sure it has to do with he and Sansa’s relationship. Then it comes to him. _She’s threatened. Threatened and worried._ The dragon queen could never harm Sansa herself, not with Jon around and Sansa as respected and loved as she is. No, Daenerys find them together threatening. Somehow she must know about them and she means to hurt Sansa and end everything they have by killing him. The Targaryen girl did not, however, anticipate Sansa standing up against the assassin; else she would not have tried to hurt them. _She’s made a mistake. A huge one, and when Jon finds out..._

Never mind Jon. Daenerys Targaryen will pay for what she has done. Even if she did not intend for Sansa to die, she caused this and Jaime will not stand by while she attempts to divide them, much less kill his Queen, his sweet girl.

The door bursts open and in seconds Jon is at his sisters side. “What the hell happened?” he bites out at Jaime, barely sparing him a glance.

Jaime can no longer hold it in. He isn’t going to lie – there are no word which can sweeten this and perhaps it is time everyone saw this dragon queen for who she truly is.

“An assassin came in the night,” Jaime mumbles, the chafing in his throat from disuse unrelenting. “He was there to kill me, but Sansa...” Jaime chokes off, knowing what is going to happen next. “Sansa stepped in front of him and he stabbed her. I brought her straight to Sam.”

Jaime watches the cogs turn, watches Jon’s eyes grow dangerously dark. The next thing he knows, Jon’s hand is around his throat and Jaime's slammed into the wall.

“My sister could die because of you! I don't want you anywhere near her.” Jon’s eyes narrow further and widen in revelation. “Wait... what the fuck were you doing in her rooms...”

“I didn’t touch her... and what goes on between myself and Sansa is none of your business, Snow.”

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me it’s none of my business, Kingslayer!” Jon yells. Behind him, Jaime sees Daenerys walk in the room and all he can think about as the Targaryen girl approaches Sansa is keeping her the fuck away.

“Get your hands off her,” Jaime growls at Daenerys, who looks up surprised.

Jon tightens his grip on Jaime’s neck. “First you get my sister injured and now you see fit to talk to Dany like that. I’ll have your head, Lannister.”

“I talk to her however the fuck I see fit – she’s the one that hurt Sansa.”

Jon shakes his head, snarling. “What the hell are you talking about? Your sister sent the assassin. You know that as well as I.”

Jaime scoffs, pushing Jon off him. “Of course it wasn’t Cersei. How could my sister possibly know I would be with Sansa at that time. No, it was someone in Winterfell... and the only person who wants me dead and couldn’t do it herself is your silver haired queen. So excuse me if I am _rude_ to her!” Somehow, Jaime knows he’s made himself understood, because Jon wheels round, his eyes now ablaze with confusion, but the doubt is there, firmly planted as much as he might love his Targaryen queen.

“Dany... what is he talking about?”

“Jon... I... it was never meant to be Sansa... the man... he was supposed to...” she trails off, her face full of sorrow but it dies naught to quell Jaime’s anger. “I saw him in your sister’s room. I thought... I thought they were plotting to steal the crown... to undermine us.” Jaime can see she’s mis-stepped the moment she says _us_ , because Jon’s face shows utter disgust as he turns away from her.

Daenerys begins to plead, but Jon is deaf to her cries and she soon gives up and leaves, Jon and Jaime alone with Sansa. Jaime looks up at Jon.

“I did not dishonour her.”

“You dishonour her by even being in her presence.”

Jaime sighs then. _Fucking Starks and their bloody honour._ “I did nothing improper with her, but I love her and I-”

“Don’t you dare say another word, Lannister. I want you gone. You will leave Winterfell and never return or I’ll have you executed.”

Jaime shakes his head adamantly. “I swore never to leave her.”

“Then unswear. Sansa’s strong. She’ll cope without you and I doubt it’ll be hard for you to break another oath.”

“Don’t you understand? When you came back with Daenerys, it hurt her. _You_ hurt her. Her own brother gave away her birthright to a foreign stranger. I was there – I comforted her when she cried, when she – who has suffered so much – had to lose her brother’s loyalty. So don’t talk to me about oaths, Jon Snow. Don’t try and make out you’re the better man.”

“I mean it, Lannister. I want you gone.”

“I will not leave her. Not now. Not ever.”

“Then I’ll kill you where you stand.” Jon reaches for the sword at his belt and Jaime for his. He will not leave Sansa and if he has to fight, so be it. Jon swings his sword experimentally but at once they are cut off by a low moan and both men turn to look at Sansa.

She’s writhing in unconsciousness, plagued by what Jaime suspects are her nightmares again, induced by some combination of loneliness and milk of the poppy. Jon frowns and reaches for her hand but when she mumbles, it is not for Jon.

“Jaime... Jaime, my lion... are you... Jai... Don’t hurt him... _please_... no... not my Jaime...”

Sansa continues like this a little longer until Jaime can bear it no more and he pushes Jon away so that he can be closer to her. Carefully, he strokes back her hair, resting the golden hand in her empty one. Jon is clearly angry still – his gaze on Jaime’s back is bitter and cruel, but he seems to realise that Sansa has no need of him and he backs away furiously.

“If you ever bring her to harm, Kingslayer...”

Jaime does not reply as he hears Jon leave, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind him with finality. As soon as the King in the North is gone, he pulls the chair closer and sinks into it, not once relinquishing the hold on her hand.

“Sansa, my sweet, I’m here. I’m alright.”

She continues to cry out, but her breathing is calmer the more he talks and whispers to her and when she eventually quietens and he knows she is asleep, then and only then does he allow the barriers to fall. There are no tears – she’s here, she’s alive. Yet the sorrow he feels at her predicament, the one that is in many parts his fault, buries him. Jaime chides himself for even staying. Jon was right – he _is_ an oathbreaker. What use is he is he can’t protect her?

Still, he cannot leave when she is like this. If he is to depart the North then it will be when he knows she is completely well and any injustice against her repaid. For now, he settles for his silent vigil, resting his hand in hers and his head on her chest, with the steady beat of her heart to comfort him. For now, he stays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I missed writing angst too much!! ;)))


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